A/N: Hiya, I'm back! It took me a while (life got in the way), but I'm back to this story, more determined to finish it than ever :) I've been rewriting the whole thing so that it fits better with my current writing style, and I think the chapters I've got left to edit are 12-18. Anyway, doesn't matter. Remember where we left of? If not, go back and read the whole thing again (and feel free to leave some feedback ;)). Let me know what you think, yeah? Reviews are good for the soul xx

—

"What is the context of the finding?"

As they walk through the crowded corridor, Charlie hands Booth a brown file folder, and then turns to Brennan. "The body, or, you know," he makes a face, "what's left of it, was found behind some bushes by the side of the freeway this morning. Some kids playing in the area saw the skull and called the cops, but here was no ID or anything that could help identify the remains, only a small box found nearby."

"A box?" Brennan repeats.

All they were told in the conference room was that they'd been called outside of town and that Charlie was going with them. Due to another scheduled meeting, they were dismissed shortly after that and the only information they have on the case is what the other agent managed to find out before being sent to look after them.

"Yeah, you know, a metal box," Charlie explains. "They're trying to get it open right now."

Eyes fixed on the folder, Booth nods his head distractedly. "Okay, great. I'll see what else I can dig up before we leave." From the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Brennan heading for the elevator instead of his office, and spins around with a quizzical look on his face. "Bones, what are you—where are you going?"

She gives him the isn't-it-obvious? look he sometimes hates and others, simply adores. Right now, it only confuses him, like everything else about her at the moment.

"To the lab."

"To the lab?" he echoes. "Why? We're supposed to be leaving soon."

More of the look. "Yes, I'm aware, but there are several things I need to gather from there, Booth. My jumpsuit being one of them."

"Oh, okay. All right, we'll swing by the lab in thirty to pick you up, then."

"You don't have to," she says, pushing the button to call for the elevator. "I can drive to the crime scene myself."

"Are you sure?"

"My car is equipped with GPS, Booth. Getting there won't be a problem."

He takes a quick look at the weather outside. The sky has turned dark grey and the clouds look stuffed and heavy, their threat to burst into thunders and rain at any time hovering silently in the air. His eyes flicker between the clouds and her and he steps forward, his hand absently palming the back of his neck as a small shred of concern rushes through him.

"Just … be careful, all right? The roads might be a bit slippery so drive carefully."

"Of course, I'm an excellent driver."

"Bones." Her name is a warning and they both know it. "Promise."

The arrival of the elevator distracts her but she doesn't give it a second thought when she turns to him and says, "I promise, Booth," before stepping inside. "I'll see you both in a while."

Charlie waves her goodbye. "See ya', Doc."

"Come on, let's go," Booth rushes him once the doors close, his spirit slightly calmer. "I need to make some calls before we hit the road."

—x—

It isn't until she's on the highway that she allows herself to even think about it.

Rationally, she can't just know something, yet the constant presence of a clear pattern in Sweets' behaviour when it comes to her and Booth tells her, without doubt, that hadn't it been for Charlie and his interference, they would've left the office in a state that resembled the one they carried with them that other time.

Her stomach twists at the very thought it. How long has it been—one and a half, two years? She can't even bring herself to do the proper math because Booth's sad, sad eyes hit her like a freight train. He'd looked so devastated, so … hopeless. So damn hopeless, and it'd been all because of her.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightens, one too many thoughts crossing her mind.

She wasn't trying to hurt him.

That's the one thing she later realised he, perhaps, did not fully understand. She didn't intend for things to get worse, didn't mean for that smooth (and metaphorical, of course) electricity between them to turn into unbearable tension and then to escalate and escalate and escalate until she saw no other way but to leave. To get away for her own sake, but for his, too.

Even now, and after all that has happened, it would be an excruciating lie to claim that Booth's behaviour following his coma dream didn't rise suspicions in her. Of course it did. It wasn't only about the little things like what he likes brown sugar on (everything), or that he hadn't remembered to put on his garish socks (silly, silly socks), it was also … it was the way his eyes lingered on her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. Without realizing it himself, he would sometimes look at her as if she was his one and only shot at happiness, and what had scared her so terribly about it was that those looks occurred after he'd been reinstated as well. It had been different when he was still caught up in the aftermaths of the operation because, as much as it had tore her apart to see him in such a fragile state, there had been several medical explanations to justify his behaviour.

She wasn't trying to hurt him. On the contrary, behind her actions rested the sole intention of salvaging them both from a good share of imminent pain.

He was confused, foxed by his dream and her book and the shock of waking up to a reality that hadn't been his for four days. He couldn't possibly feel that way about her, couldn't possibly and truly believe that they would ever work, that she could make him happy. Several shivers travel down her spine because, denial out the window since long ago, she can now admit that it was pretty much that thought that drove her to Guatemala shortly after he had woken up. She had just been too scared to admit it, even for herself, so she left hoping that by her return things would have relatively gone back to normal, and they had. Booth was reinstated the same morning she came back to D.C. (that's the weirdest coinkidink ever, he'd told her), and they worked together and solved a case despite it being many, many things that kept suggesting that normal wasn't really an option anymore.

And then, by the end of the same case and as they walked down the familiar streets of Washington, he said it. The three words, the three way-past-the-line words. And just as she was taking them in (the wheels in her head turning at the speed of light and her heart throbbing wildly against her ribcage), he tugged at the rope, taking them back. No, he didn't. He camouflaged them, and she allowed him to do it. Even more so, she was happy to.

It's just that … there had been so much at stake.

So many variables to be taken into consideration. So much to lose.

Besides, hadn't they been down that road before? Deciding not to sleep together, drawing the infamous line, entering and rekindling relationships with other people … weren't those signals that deserved to be acknowledged?

Yes.

No.

Yes. But it hadn't mattered anyway. None of it had mattered when he'd jumped in front of a bullet for her, when the Gravedigger had taken him away, when he'd been in a damn coma for four days, or when he had been away in the middle of a war, because it was during those instances, more than ever, that she'd been painfully and wrenchingly aware of what she'd started to feel for him. And later, when everything had turned out okay, it had been easier to simply bury whatever it was she felt, to put it aside and compartmentalize, to focus on what they had instead of what they could have.

And yet …

It's just that, it still infuriates her, the way he waltzed into her life and turned it upside-down, all charm smile, cocky attitude and broad shoulders, and she doesn't even know how it happened, how they went from getting along to kissing each other in the rain to hating each other and then—

She glances at the rearview mirror and sees one pair of blue, cloudy eyes staring back at her. With a huff, she forces herself to focus on the road.

Partners.

Just how stretched isn't the meaning of that word by now? It's what they have been from the beginning, yes, although somewhere along the way they became more, so much more than just that. To suggest the opposite would be, well, a shameless lie. Still, the professional bond forged between them has been the constant in her life for years, one of the few relationships she has been able to fall back to whenever everything else has come crumbling down.

Somehow, he has always managed to make her feel so … safe. Like coming home after a rainy day, coming home to him.

Against all reason and despite her efforts, she developed one infuriating weakness in the form of Seeley Joseph Booth.

—x—

"So what's the deal with the Doc? You together now or what?"

They've ridden in casual conversation up until a moment ago, so Booth has to swing a manoeuvre not to drive out of the lane upon hearing Charlie's question. "Bones?" the special agent asks, eyes flickering between his colleague and the road. "No, no—we're partners."

"Just partners? C'mon, Booth, save that crap for Hacker. Walker from Public Affairs practically flinches whenever he sees you after the little round you two had in your office, and you almost got us killed just now." With a grin, Charlie adds, "You fancy her, don't you?"

Involuntarily, his brow furrows, eyes fixed on the road. "It's complicated, alright?"

"I knew it!" Charlie practically gives a jump on his seat. "I mean, I knew it before, too, but with Hannah in the picture I wasn't really sure …"

"No offence, but I really don't wanna talk about it."

But Charlie doesn't take offence, because that's not the kind of person he is. Instead, his grin grows bigger. "Yeah, no problem. Word of advice, though—you better hurry up and make a move before Sullivan comes back to sweep her off her feet again. I know I would if I was him."

Booth shoots him a glare, shoulders tensing up at the prospect of anyone sweeping her off her feet.

"Hey—married, remember?" Charlie holds up his right hand, the wedding band gleaming around his finger.

"Oh. Right."

"Speaking of which, you think this is gonna take long? 'Cause I've got dinner reservations tonight."

From the driver's seat, Booth gives a shrug. "I dunno. Maybe you should push it an hour or so, just to be safe."

That, apparently, is the worst suggestion to be made.

"Are you kidding me?" Charlie exclaims. "You know how expensive babysitters are these days? As soon as they learn how to cook they want a raise, and don't even get me started on the ones who bring boys to the house. Last time Liv and I got home from an evening out, there were two boys in our living room. Two! It was practically an orgy!"

"All right, all right, I get it." Booth shoots Charlie a nasty look, rubbing his temples with his free hand. "Jeez. We'll make it quick, then."

—x—

She pulls over by the side of the road, grabs her bag from the passenger seat, and slides out of the car. The area has been completely enclosed, and a quick estimation tells her there must be at least thirty people working the crime scene. With the bag loosely hanging from her shoulder, she ducks under the yellow tape and casts a glance at the surroundings.

"Excuse me, ma'am, you can't be here. This area is restricted for law enforcement only."

She turns around to meet the officer currently staring at her with one hell of a patronizing look on his face. "I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan," she informs him, her chin tilting up. "I work with the FBI."

"I'm gonna have to see some ID to confirm that, Ms. Brennan."

"Doctor Brennan."

He clicks his tongue, eyeing her from head to toe. "ID, please."

"She's with me," Booth says as he approaches them, pointedly flashing his badge for the officer. "Special Agent Seeley Booth, this here is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. She's here to work the case with us, so do yourself a favour and go click your fucking tongue somewhere else, yeah?"

Without saying another word (but with eyes burning furiously), the officer walks away. Puzzled at his unexpected rage, she gives her partner an inquiring look. He misses it, too occupied muttering something under his breath to pay attention to anything else.

"C'mon, Bones, this way," he says at last, marching away. Silently, she falls into step with him, still trying to figure out the reasons behind his deteriorated mood. "What the hell took you so long?" he grunts as they walk through the empty field. "You were supposed to arrive shortly after us; I must have called you a thousand times."

One of her eyebrows quirks up, her dose of empathy running short. "Mr. Nigel-Murray needed my assistance as I was on my way to leave the lab. I had to introduce him to a new technique to clean bones before coming here. As for my cell phone, I believe it's on silent mode."

Another grunt, then he finally turns to look at her. "Agh, Bones, didn't we have a talk about why you shouldn't leave your phone on mute?"

"Yes, and although I took your reasoning into consideration, I still find it more effective to have it on silent mode when I'm at work since it's less of a distraction that way." They get to another yellow barrier and she ducks under the tape as Booth holds it up for her. "Besides, I wouldn't have heard it anyway, I already explained that Mr. Nigel-Murray needed my assistance."

They stop near another enclosed area. Her eyes land on the remains, and Booth waves an adamant finger at her, coaxing her attention back to him. "English squintern could've waited, all right? I've been fighting these guys off the remains for about an hour." As if on cue, a police officer crouches by the decomposed body. "Hey!" Booth barks at him. "Hey, I told you not to touch it!"

The officer jumps to his feet and turns around to look at them with a frightened expression on his face, only to promptly march away after that.

"Damn rookies," the agent mutters bitterly.

"Part of my job is to instruct my interns, Booth," she continues as if no interruption had occurred. "I'm their mentor."

"Yeah, and I'm FBI," he says, his voice raising as they walk by two other officers. "But nobody seems to give a damn about it here."

Calmly, she works her way into the blue jumpsuit, then offers him a concerned look as her hands start to work her ponytail. "You seem agitated."

"Great observation skills there, Bones," he bites. As he catches the puzzled look she's giving him, Booth scrubs a hand down his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry, Bones."

"What's the matter?"

He blows out a breath. "Sheriff here won't let us move this to D.C."

"You mean he won't allow you to transport the remains?"

"She," Booth corrects her. "She won't let us take anything. The remains, the case, any of it."

"Can't you do something about it?"

"What do you—no, I can't, all right? Not as long as she doesn't feel like delegating a little bit."

"But we're still in Virginia, and you're FBI," Brennan states, as if that was the obvious solution. "Your position outweighs hers."

"FBI's only got jurisdiction if I agree," Brennan hears from behind them.

Her eyes travel to the sheriff now standing next to them, a tall, blonde woman in her fifties with clear eyes and rough features.

The woman stretches out a hand, and as Brennan shakes it, she adds, "Sheriff Evans. You must be the bones lady, correct?"

Handshake done and over with, her eyes flicker between her partner and the sheriff. "If you don't want us here, then why were we called?"

"Oh, I do want you here. This town is counting on me to find out, first of all, whom the hell those remains belong to, and also who would do something like this. Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Brennan, and I could use the help of the best person in the business, but I won't send this off to D.C. and then take the heat from my people."

Brennan's quizzical eyes land on Booth, who gives her a shrug of his shoulders and says, "We could appeal but we'd have to jump through a bunch of legal hoops and considering all the time it'd take as well as the fact that the victim would have to stay here during said time, well … it's up to you, Bones."

"Why me?"

"You're the bones lady," Sheriff Evans tells her. "It's your mad skills we're after. Federal boy here is a bonus, any of my guys could do his job."

Next to her, Booth lets out a loud scoff, his hands coming to rest on his hips.

"I don't work without Booth," Brennan states.

Sheriff Evans gives her a smile. "So I've heard. What do you say, Doc? Are you in or out?"

"We will work the case," Brennan feigns nonchalance. "However, I feel obligated to inform you that I expect nothing but strict professionalism from both you and your team, and I'm afraid that that doesn't include being impolite to my partner. Agent Booth is magnificent at his job."

The sheriff's smile falters for just a fraction, yet she's quick to put it back for show. "Excellent. Come check the remains when you're ready." Before leaving them be, she points a finger to a spot nearby where several officers are gathered. "We'll be over there in case you've got any questions."

Once she's gone, they automatically turn to look at each other.

"I don't like her."

"Me neither," Booth says, and rubs his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "But I can tell she's only doing what she thinks is best for her town."

"Well, that might be the case, but it doesn't give her the authority to address you the way she did, or to dismiss your job like that."

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he palms the back of his neck. "It's okay, Bones. I don't care."

"But I do," she asserts, her voice so firm and unbreakable it nearly gives him the chills.

His smile gets wider and he places a gentle hand on the small of her back. Just like that, his bad mood has vanished. "Let's just—look, let's see how far we can get before it gets dark, all right?"

Hands itching to get a hold of the remains, and with her mind already diving into work, she nods and snaps on a pair of latex gloves.

However, as the following couple of hours tick by, they begin to realize that even the preliminary phase of the case will be, to say the least, rocky. As she examines the remains, Brennan comes across several anomalies that can only mean one thing: the evidence has been tainted, most likely by the first team that arrived to the crime scene, something that is confirmed once she does a more throughout examination at the local lab. One thing leads to another, and, before Booth can stop her, she's engaged in a heated argument with the medical examiner as he tries to talk some sense into the sheriff and Charlie makes raging calls to D.C.

Several hours later, Booth enters the small lab with careful steps and two hands hiding strategically behind his back. Compared to the Jeffersonian, the place looks awfully sterile and cold.

"Hey..." He drags his words, testing the waters. "How's everything going?"

She shoots him a look. "It depends. Has Sheriff Evans agreed to let the FBI take charge of the case? Because examining the remains under these conditions will take at least twice as long and I can assure you the results won't be nearly as—"

"Yeah, I don't—" He stops, sighs, gives a crooked, tired smile. "She's not gonna change her mind, Bones. I'm sorry." Before she has the chance to start ranting again, he holds out one of the big paper mugs he'd been hiding behind his back. "Here, I thought you might want some coffee."

And that's our relationship? Coffee.
– Yeah, let's move on.

Her stomach gives a vague twist as she takes the mug from him, the warmth of it perfect against her cold hands. "Thank you," she says softly.

Disaster averted, he flashes a small smile. "No problem. Listen, it's really—I mean, it's a freaking diluvium outside, so I was thinking that we do as much as we can today, and then head back to D.C. before the roads get slippery. What do ya' think?"

"That sounds reasonable," she agrees. "However, I need to get a hold of the lab results first so I can read through them at home."

"Can't they just e-mail them to you?"

She shakes her head slightly, lips pressing together before she explains, "The rest of the building seems to be out of power."

"What? But you're—"

"The only rooms with enough power to function are this lab and the office where the technologist is sitting right now, hopefully working on the reports." Even a blind man would be able to see that she's everything but pleased at the moment.

Her eyes drop back to the remains as Booth rakes a hand through his hair. Goddamn, this case is proving to be real headache. "Just let me know when you've got those results, alright? I'll go back to the police station to see if I can find Charlie in the meantime."

"I don't think finding him will prove to be that hard," Brennan assesses, looking over his shoulder from beneath her eyelashes.

Through the window, Booth catches sight of Charlie waiting in the hall, gesturing for him to come out. He mutters a hurried "See you later" to Brennan and makes his way out of the examination room. Once in the hall, Charlie gives a small nod in her direction.

"She mad?"

"Fuming," Booth says with a low chuckle. And she thinks she's good at hiding it. "Gotta say, I'm not thrilled either. Did you have any luck with the box?"

"Yeah, about that … turns out, the damn thing won't open. And since it's evidence, well, crushing it with a hammer isn't really an option. And the ID?"

"We have a missing person that matches Bones' findings so far, but there's no way to be sure yet. I've talked to the parents and the allegedly best friend, though."

Nodding slightly, Charlie sneaks a glance at the clock hanging on the wall and lets out a sigh that doesn't go unnoticed for the other agent. "Man, we've been at this for hours and we still have nothing that'll help us move forward. Talk about hitting some dead ends."

Having come to terms that they won't be winning the case over any time soon, and seeing as he refuses to drive back to D.C. without his partner, Booth fishes his car keys from the pocket of his suit and holds them out to his colleague. "Here, take my car. You won't make it home in time otherwise."

Although evidently perplexed, Charlie takes the keys in his hand. "What? But what about you?"

"Don't worry 'bout it, I'll just ride home with Bones."

"You think she'll have you?" Upon catching the potential double meaning of his question, Charlie hurries to add, "I mean, she's pretty pissed, and she can be real scary when something gets in the way of her and her skeletons."

Booth gives a chuckle. "Yeah, Bones would never leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere. C'mon, go have dinner with Liv. I've got this."

"Thanks, man. Listen, I'll give you a call first thing tomorrow morning," he promises, and pats Booth lightly on the back as he heads for the stairs. "Good luck with the Doc."

—x—

After pacing the police station for over twenty minutes, he sees the sheriff materializing through the main entrance.

"There you are, fed boy." Grinning derisively, she walks over to him, hands closing on a brown folder. "Been lookin' for you my whole life."

Veins throbbing in his neck, Booth makes a point to stand just a little taller. "You know, I have a son."

"So does my seventeen-year-old nephew, and he's still a brat."

"Funny." His hands close around his hips, and he nods pointedly at the folders she's holding. "I'll need an initial report on the case before heading home to D.C. We'll be back with a team first thing tomorrow."

Shoulders shrugging nonchalantly, Sheriff Evans gives him a smile. "Don't bother. It's been decided to let the FBI handle the rest of the investigation." Eyebrow shooting up, Booth opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off. "That means you have permission to send this to precious D.C.," she explains.

It's as if she's mocking him. Through narrowed eyes, he watches her smile grow bigger. Oh, no, she's definitely mocking him. "I know what that means," Booth replies, teeth clenching. What does she think, that he's new at this?

Without saying another word (any further discussion will only fuel his mood, after all), he makes a move to leave.

"It ain't happening today, though," Sheriff Evans adds as he turns around.

Booth spins on his heels, ready to put up a fight. It's been such a long day. "Excuse me?"

"Take a look at the sky, pretty boy. Storm approaches. Not to mention, half the town is out of power, and I've got word they'll be closing the roads soon." She thrusts the folders at him, turning over the case completely. "I wouldn't drive anywhere that wasn't the closest motel if I was you."

To his surprise, Brennan's take on the news of their enforced stay seems to be cushioned by the fact that once morning rolls in, they will be heading back home with a legit case in their bag. He remains at the station taking care of the case's transition, and, shortly after the sun goes down, she arrives hidden under a dark, wide umbrella, her cheeks flushed in the cold, shivering evening.

"Where's Agent Charlie?" she asks, eyes scanning the place.

"I sent him home a while ago." Booth glances at the clock on the wall, arms stretching to the sides as he throws on his coat. "Hopefully he made it in time and is having dinner with Liv as we speak. C'mon, we gotta find somewhere to stay the night. You got those reports?"

She nods her head. "Apparently, the power has gone off in several places apart from the medical lab."

"Yeah, heard 'bout that, too. We better hurry before we walk out of here holding candles. Come on, vamos."

Brennan laughs, and Booth places his hand on the small of her back as they start for the exit. Much to his dismay, he catches sight of Sheriff Evans approaching them from the corner of his eye. Grunting, he turns to face her, and Brennan does as well.

"What now?" he asks tiredly. "I'm going, see? We're getting out of here."

Sheriff Evans raises an eyebrow at him. "One of my guys made a few calls, and it seems like you're out of luck. Every place nearby seems to be full, even the shabbiest motel right outside of town."

"Can't be." Booth rakes a hand through his hair. As if things couldn't get any worse. "There's gotta be something."

"That's what I came to tell you—there is. A Bed & Breakfast opened a few weeks ago north of town. It's a bit far away, but according to the manager they've got a cancellation." Her eyes land on one of the police officers behind the main desk, and she waves him towards them. Hurriedly, the man obliges. "This is Officer Wells, he'll drive you there."

"We have a car," Brennan points out.

"Listen, if you wanna get lost driving up there, it's your call." Evans nods at the officer, and adds, "But Wells here knows the way, and we can easily come pick you up first thing tomorrow." Wordlessly, the partners exchange a glance, then turn around to Evans in perfect sync. "So, you in or out? We've got places to be well, you know."

Booth nods his head, and Brennan speaks for them as her eyes flicker between sheriff and officer. "Thank you, your help is very appreciated."

Officer Well, a man in his late thirties, blushes slightly at her gaze meets his. "No—no problem, Doc. It's my pleasure, really."

In the blink of an eye, Booth has flung his arm around her shoulder, steering Brennan toward the main entrance. "Yeah, let's go."

"You know, Agent Booth..." Sheriff Evans adds, causing the three of them to turn around. "All you had to do was ask nicely. We would've been more than happy to work with you if you hadn't waltzed into the crime scene like you owned the place." Smiling sincerely, she gives a nod in their direction, making a move to retreat. "Have a good night."

—x—

Stating that the residential was a bit far away turns out to be the biggest understatement Sheriff Evans could have come up with, seeing as it's taken them over an hour to find the damn place. Sitting by the window in the police van, Brennan shifts uncomfortably, her eyes trained on the passing landscape slightly blurred by the heavy rain. There's something bothering her, he can tell, but the chances of try and talk to her about it have been nearly non-existent: Officer Wells has spent the majority of the ride telling her about the one hundred and seven wonders of freaking Berryville. He has practically covered it all: the food, the nature, the people, and—

—murders, Booth thinks for himself, almost cracking up at his own wit.

Finally, Wells drives up next to a battered house in the middle of the woods, then looks back at them from the driver's seat. "I'll wait in case it goes badly." Booth would be an idiot to think that the smile Wells gives is for anyone that isn't Brennan. "Let me know, Doc."

She replies with a smile of her own, although hers is much more collected. "Thank you, officer."

A bell goes off as they step inside, the warmth of the room contrasting heavily with their shivering bodies. They walk past a couple of teenagers siting by the fireplace on their way to the main desk, catching sight of an employee hanging up the phone as they arrive. Brennan's attention is immediately caught by a small statue stored in a glass cabinet behind the desk, her eyes widening in sheer curiosity.

"Good evening," the young man greets them, but Booth is the only one paying attention to him. "How can I help you?"

"We need, er, a place to stay for the night," Booth explains. "I believe you got a call about us from the police station earlier today."

"Oh yes, indeed."

At the lack of further elaborating, Booth looks at him expectantly. "So? You've got anything?"

"As a matter of fact, we do," the young man replies with a smile.

If he weren't so damn tired, Booth would be closing his hands around the guy's neck. His military training did not prepare him for every day situations like this.

"That statue is in excellent conditions considering its date," Brennan comments, causing two pair of eyes to land on her. Casually, she turns to the strange man. "Although the upper corner seems to have been damaged recently. May I ask how a Native American artefact of such value ended up at this residential?"

"Oh," the young man nods his head, "it belongs to the owner. It's been in the family for generations, I think."

Impatiently, Booth snaps his finger, drawing the attention back to him. "Excuse me? A place to stay? We'll take two rooms."

"Oh, there are none."

"But you just said—"

"That we had something, yes. One of the cabins outside, down the lane. The couple that was supposed to stay there got stuck two villages from here."

"We'll take it," Brennan chimes in.

Booth practically jumps. "Wh—the cabin? You and me?" Alone?

She blinks at him, her patience running out. "Would you rather spend the night in my car?" At the lack of an answer from his side, she turns back to the desk and the man sitting behind it. "We'll take it."

After another tiny argument ("I can pay for the cabin, Booth.", "It's fifty-fifty or the car. Period."), the young employee whistles at the teenagers by the fireplace, causing them to turn around.

"Hey, Freddie! Show the couple to the cabin, will ya'?"

With a grunt, the boy stands up from the group.

"We're not a—we're partners," Booth pipes in, clearing his throat. "As in, professional partners."

Brennan, however, simply shoots him an annoyed look, arms folding across her chest as she makes her way to the group of teenagers. Wordlessly, Booth follows her to the fireplace, the bridge between his brows furrowing in utter confusion.

The boy, Freddie, addresses his friends with a smirk on his face as the partners approach. "I don't know what the fuss is about. I wouldn't mind spending the night with her, If ya' know what I mean."

"Didn't you just stop using diapers?" Booth bites.

She, however, seems unfazed. "Sexual aggression at such young age often has its roots in high insecurity and self-doubt."

Well, so much for not liking psychology.

The kid looks like a complete idiot when he turns to Booth, nose wrinkling as he manages out an, "What did she just say?"

"That you're a self-loathing prick. Now show us the way to the cabin, will ya'?"

They step out and into the rain once again, and Booth gives officer Wells a lazy thumbs up, indicating him that they're all set, and thus he's free to leave. From inside the car, Wells waves at Brennan, who politely waves back.

Once in motion, Booth jogs up to her as they make their way up a little hill. "Why are you mad at me?"

Her eyes are fixed on the boy leading the way, arms still crossed. "I'm not mad," she replies, her voice calm to the brink of being irksome.

"Oh, but you are," he scoffs.

"Could we please focus on reaching the cabin? I wouldn't want to get lost in the middle of the forest." Her breath turns into smoke as the words leave her mouth, and he has to force his eyes away from her lips. "The last thing we need is yet another obstruction altering our plans."

And jackpot.

Hands buried deep in his pockets, Booth lets out a chuckle. "You know, I'm not the only one to blame for our imminent stay here, Bones."

Immediately, her head snaps in his direction. "What is that supposed to mean? This is entirely your fault."

"My fault?" Booth bites back with a laugh. "I'm not the one who had to go and piss off the entire and only forensic team in town!"

Absorbed in their argument, they've frozen on the spot, forgetting about the cabin altogether.

"They weren't doing their jobs correctly!" Brennan retorts, indignant. "They compromis—"

"Compromised evidence, I know. You wanna why I know? 'Cause it was all you would tell anyone that even dared to come near the remains!"

Eyes narrowing, she accuses, "You were the one arguing about the case's jurisdiction with the sheriff! And according to her, you were being arrogant from the moment you arrived here."

"Yeah? Well, at least that didn't cost us an entire day of work, unlike you calling the local medical examiner for an incompetent."

"I doubt she appreciated your poor attempt to a discreet laugh either."

"Doesn't matter, you were mean."

Nose flaring, she resumes her walking, stomping her way down the muddy path. "You're insufferable."

"Yeah? Well, you're still mean," Booth calls out from behind.

"This conversation is over," she asserts firmly.

"Fine for me."

"Good."

"Great."

Brennan blows out an angry breath, and they make a point to put distance between each other as they follow the boy in silence for a couple of additional minutes. At last, the allegedly wooden cabin materializes from behind some trees, and the boy takes the tiny stairs up to the main door, keys being fished out of his pocket.

He turns the key in the lock, pushes the door open after it clicks, and flicks the lights on. "So, here are the keys," he says tiredly, spinning around to face the partners. Silently, Booth grabs the set from him. "The kitchen's fully equipped, and the main bedroom's at the end of the hallway."

"Great." Hastily, Booth casts a glance at his partner from the corner of his eye. "And the other one?"

Nonchalantly, the boy shrugs. "Should be in there somewhere." He steps forward, addressing Brennan with a smirk on his face. "Want help looking for it?"

Rather sharply, Booth tugs at the boy's hoodie, forcing him to stumble back. "Easy, champ. She's not public domain, got it?"

Another shrug. "Fine," the boys hisses. "Good luck, or whatever."

After he's gone, they make their way to a bedroom each without offering the other the slightest hint of a glance. The cabin is rather beautiful, built in wood and with small touches of modern décor; cozy and warm, not too big nor to small—perfect, really, for a romantic get-away, and therefore not quite perfect for them at the moment. He feels trapped (as if being constantly trapped inside his mind and feelings wasn't enough already), and wishes she could at least acknowledge his presence as she searches the cabin for something to eat. She, on the other side, has an apology hanging from the tip of her tongue, but refuses refuses refuses, too tenacious to give in, his words about her behaviour still ringing clear in her ears.

Another hour ticks by, and the imminent approach of darkness seems to only fuel the sky's rage, rain bouncing heavily against the roof, whistles of wind forming among the thick forest.

Feeling restless, he hits the shower to kill time, regret washing over him almost immediately as he has to literally force himself not to think about her sleeping in the room next to his later that night. He had assumed it would be easier, but the escalating tension between them is making it incredibly hard for him to keep his cool, to hold back, to not march over to her and pin her against the goddamn wooden wall as he crashes his mouth on hers, hands running over her soft skin, knee wedging between her legs, bringing her close, close, closer—

No. Control. Restraint. One night and it'll be over. It's only one night.

When he reenters the kitchen much later, there's a plate of pesto pasta waiting for him on the counter. His eyes flicker between the plate and her figure all the way on the couch (of course she brought a book), and he smiles vaguely as he digs into the food.

A moment later, she heads for the shower, too, breezing past him without uttering a word, her hands working her hair free from the messy bun. Cold, cold water serves as a reminder of the things she's not allowed to either think or hope for, the conclusions reached in the car on her way to the small town still awfully sharp in her head. They're better off this way. He is better off this way. Still, it makes her whole body twist in exquisite pain, the uncensored thought of getting to stroke and map his solid muscles, of having him settled between her legs, of simply kissing him, hard and long and heavy and—

Goddammit, it's so not fair.

She steps out of the shower feeling even more distressed than she was before, and the view she catches as she pushes the door open doesn't help at all. Across the narrow hall, Booth swings his bedroom door open at the same time, clad in nothing but boxers, face flushing slightly as their eyes meet.

"I—" The words get caught in the back of his throat, eyes drinking her in completely. Loose t-shirt and panties, hair soaking wet from the shower. Fuck's sake, as if he needed that image burning under his eyelids. "I thought you'd be long—"

"It didn't seem wise to waste more water than nec—"

"—just thought I'd fetch something to drink—"

"—I assumed you had gone to sleep and—"

Whatever arguments they had left, they die on the tip of their tongues, the air full with the moment, tension increasing rapidly as their eyes meet again.

He doesn't reply, but folds his arms across his chest (Dammit, it does look solid, she assesses, slightly annoyed), attempting to cover himself up a bit at least. Feeling awfully exposed, she gives a significant tug at the hem of the tee she's wearing (one found in the drawers as she raided her assigned room earlier that night), her heart beating wildly against her ribcage.

She could do it. She could just... do it, just not care, just be selfish and kiss him and do it. Her feet shift, her whole body drowning in uncertainty, and the inner monologue from the car hits her again. It wouldn't be fair to him. It would destroy them completely. He deserves more, deserves better.

Ripping her gaze away from his, she starts for the bedroom. "Good night, Booth," she says in a soft murmur.

Gulping, he says it, too. "Good night, Bones."

The door to her bedroom closes with a sharp screech, and he slumps against the wall, hands scrubbing down his face, rubbing off the goddamn images from his eyes, forcing that familiar overwhelming urging sinful lust out of his system.

—x—

Several hours later, she rolls to her side as she lies on the bed, crystal clear eyes facing the wall to the other bedroom, fingertips brushing slightly against the wooden surface. On the other side of wall, Booth lies fully awake, his arm resting on his forehead, adding to the weight of thoughts and reflections anchoring deep down his mind.

At last, one of them dives into sleep.

The other one sneaks out of the bedroom.

—x—

He wakes up in the middle of the night, eyes darting to the digital clock resting on the night stand right away. Just a little over half past five. It's still early. He kicks the sheets away, throws on his plain white shirt and heads for the kitchen to get the glass of water he'd forgotten about altogether after meeting Brennan in the hallway.

Lazily, he knuckles the sleep from his eyes, his heavy footsteps revealing his presence for the dark silhouette sitting on the couch.

Brennan lifts her gaze just as he catches sight of her, his stomach dropping involuntarily.

"Hey," he murmurs, still sleepy. "What are you doing up?"

She tilts her head to get a better look at him, teeth biting down on her lip. "I'm sorry, Booth. Did I wake you?"

He shakes his head solemnly as he walks over to the couch. "No, no. I was—I got thirsty so I thought I'd fetch that glass of water." It's silent but there, the implication that he forgot about it because of her. "What about you? Did something happen?"

Silently, he's hoping with all his heart that she isn't awake because of a nightmare, or anything remotely close to it.

She holds up the book she'd been reading earlier, waving it vaguely in the air. "I couldn't conciliate sleep, so I thought I'd finish it. It's actually quite exciting, and very well written."

"Well, that's something," Booth says with a chuckle as he collapses next to her on the couch. "Did you, then? Finish it?"

"Just a few pages left," she replies with a small smile.

They go quiet. He palms the back of his neck, she fixes her eyes on the book in her hands. It's never been this dense, the air between them, yet now it seems as if doing so little as breathing will expose their entanglement of insecurities and fears.

Despite the feeling in his gut telling him to get the hell back to his room, Booth launches, "Listen, Bones, about earlier... I'm sorry. Shouldn't have said those things."

She shakes her head, bright, reassuring eyes traveling up to meet his expectant ones. "My emotions were misplaced. None of it was your fault. I'm sorry, too, Booth."

Relieved, he gives a grin. "We good, then?"

Brennan smiles, too. "Of course." Before he gets a chance to say anything else, she asks, "Did you have any luck with the relatives of the potential victim?"

"The parents?" he asks back. "Yeah, no, not much to go on, really. He's been missing for a month, apparently, but could be longer since he'd left town before that and only communicated through text messages and e-mails."

Her brows knit together, nose wrinkling adorably. "You suspect he wasn't the one sending those? A month would be consistent with my preliminary calculations."

"Nah, I don't know. Maybe he decided to skip town, got tired of waiting."

"Waiting?" she echoes.

"Yeah, I—" He leans forward, propping himself on the knees with his elbows. "I got the name of a girl from the parents, the supposedly best friend. Got to talk to her back at the station, and it sounded like they had grown apart after a fight. Apparently, they both had feelings for each other but none of them acted on it. In the end, I guess it was better to put some distance between each other, I don't know."

It's proving extremely difficult for her, not to draw lines between his words and their situation. She wonders if he's thinking about it, too. "Do you believe her?"

"Yeah, I do." His mind is completely lost in the case, oblivious to her reaction, head tilting to the side to take a look at her. "I mean, stuff like that, it happens all the time, right? And she seemed sincere. Besides, several people at the station sort of confirmed her story."

He's on work mode. It's the only possible explanation as to why he doesn't see it, too. It's one of his strengths, after all, being able to make connections such as this one. Biting on her lip, Brennan lays the book on the coffee table before them. "You look upset," she notes.

A brief laugh flies through his lips. "Yeah, I… it's just that you think they'd be able to solve it. I mean, if he turns out to be our victim, then they basically went from two people who could have had a life together to one of them being murdered. If it was so obvious, I don't—" His eyes meet hers, and it finally dawns on him. Oh, god.

Hurriedly, Brennan drops her gaze to her fidgety hands. "Perhaps that was the problem. Appearances can be … cruelly deceptive."

I think there's a moment for two people. A single moment where they can either catch fire, or...

The urge to get up and leave is so, so strong in her, so strong that she's a few seconds away from caving in. She needs to run in the opposite direction, needs to do it for both their sakes, because she can feel Booth's eyes on her, the words about to trip down his lips, and she can't let him, won't let him, has to stop him.

But she's not fast enough.

Booth's low, hoarse voice echoes in the whole room.

"We aren't fine… are we?"

The sharp breath she draws cuts cruelly through both their stubborn pretences, and him.

"No."